


Just Finish the Daydream

by Sour_Idealist



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (despite the jewelry kink tag the pearl necklace is not literal), Anxiety, Body Image, Casual Sex, Community: criticalkink, Cunnilingus, F/M, Jewelry Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Pearl Necklace, Squirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 23:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15960059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: She didn't feel good in her skin very often. Molly was easy on the eyes and clever with his hands, and it would be good to be touched, to be held.





	Just Finish the Daydream

**Author's Note:**

> De-anoning from [criticalkink.](https://criticalkink.dreamwidth.org/3194.html?thread=522362#cmt522362)
> 
> Warnings for: body image issues to the point of dysphoria; generalized anxiety; brief but fairly graphic anxiety attack; and consensual use of mind-altering magic during sex (for use as mixed aphrodisiac and anxiety treatment). 
> 
> This was _going_ to be set at a nice vague point in the timeline, but UNFORTUNATELY, AS WE ALL KNOW, EVENTS, so now it is set on the second night in Hupperdook.

>   _Stop thinking about_  
>  _the bullets from my mouth  
>  _ _I love the things you hate about yourself  
>  _ _Just finish the daydream, who were you trying to be?_
> 
> \- "Hallelujah," Panic! At the Disco

“One, two, three, four!”

Hupperdook was like this every night, it seemed. Snowflakes drifted through the firecrackers and the colored smoke, cold bit goosebumps onto exposed skin, and still the sounds of celebration rang through the streets and the Blushing Tankard echoed with the sounds of stamping feet.

Everyone took a turn dancing. Nott had had a round with Caleb, and another with Jester, and half a dance with Fjord to save him from Irlina; after that, feet aching, she had retreated to their little booth in the corner. They were hard to see, here – the booth was one of a few with high carved backs like little walls – but Nott had stolen a mirror recently, and she had it propped up on one of the tankards. She'd really just put it there to admire it – it had a lovely edge, worked in enameled purple flowers – but it let her see the rest of the room pretty well.

Caleb was dancing with Jester again, Jester coaxing him through the steps of a new dance that Nott very much suspected Jester didn't actually know how to do. Beau and Fjord whirled past Nott's line of sight, Beau with her lip between her teeth and her brows drawn down in furious concentration as her feet flew across the floor. Fjord was sloppier with it, but he looked more like he wanted to be dancing, though Nott knew Beau had insisted. Yasha had danced once with Beau, twice with Molly, and then vanished out the door. She might be even worse than Caleb. Irlina was hauling someone off a chandelier again, and someone on the far side of the bar had a very beautiful necklace Nott might need to take, at some point. For now she was all right –

“Hello there,” Molly said, dropping with a thump onto the bench next to her. “I was wondering where you'd got to.”

“Oh, hello,” Nott said a little tentatively, taking a sip from her flask. “Just... guarding our table, since Yasha's gone.”

“No one in this bar is going to take this table – no, you know, never mind, the Hour of Honor is coming up, someone might be drunk enough to take this table.” Molly laughed, sprawling out into the bench. It would have crowded any of the others, but Nott didn't even need to move her knee aside. (Yasha had claimed the table in her own... particular style. Her wings had been involved.)

“I didn't expect to see you over here,” Nott said. “I thought you'd be dancing all night, you know, a really hootenanny-olly of it.” Molly's lips twitched a little. So did Nott's. She _liked_ her words.

“I'm getting a drink,” he said, gesturing with the tankard in his hand. Nott, remembering the chunks of flesh recently torn out of him, and his faint lingering limp as he made his way up through the city, raised her eyebrows. Molly ignored it. “And keeping you company. You should come enjoy the party. Do you want to dance with me again? That was fun.”

“I danced for a while,” Nott said. “I wanted to rest for a bit. Catch my breath.” She paused. “I did like dancing with you last time, though. It was nice.”

“I try,” Molly said, laughing. He was definitely not on his first drink. (Nott had had some too. It was one of the perks of the endless flask: she didn't need to save it against real need anymore). “You – you don't look nearly cheerful enough for how well things have been going lately.”

“I don't?” Nott glanced at the mirror, which didn't help at all, because she'd deliberately angled it not to reflect more than the corner of her face. “I think I look pretty normal.”

“You don't normally look very cheerful,” Molly said. Nott bristled a little, but before she could say anything he rolled onwards, leaning conspiratorially in: “So, what'll it be? Drink, dancing, drugs?”

“I'll pass on the drugs, thank you,” Nott said, a little primly, “and I already did the other two.”

“Fair enough,” Molly said, and paused, tilting his head. “Hey, take your mask off for a second, I wanna try something.”

“I – all right –” Nott blinked at him and reached up, finding the ties easily. The knots were tightly tied, but they were _her_ knots; she got them loose in just a moment, and then the mask fell into her hands. “What did you – _mmph!_ ”

Molly was kissing her.

He had two fingers under her jaw, tilting her face up to his; her mouth fell half-open in surprise anyway, and he took the opportunity to ease his lip in between hers, adding an impertinent little flicker of his tongue. Her breath caught, a little bit; then he pulled back, dropping his hand from her face, and left her blinking up at him in absolute astonishment.

“Oh gods –” he said, very quietly, and burst out laughing.

“Oh, fuck you!” she sputtered, grabbing for her flask. Her cloak was in the corner, her mask in her hands – she'd have to climb over the table to get past him, but she could do that easily, and he wasn't making any move to stop her –

“That's what I was going for,” he said, stopping her in her tracks, “but oh, gods – the look on your _face_ –”

“What, was I supposed to know you were going to do that – what do you mean, that's what you were going for?” she demanded. She let her mask fall back to the table, clinking against her flask.

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Molly demanded, somewhat nonsensically. “I'm propositioning you. Come on now.”

“I – what?” Nott blinked at him, blinked down at herself. Up at him again. “I'm not... really looking for a relationship right now –”

“Who said anything about a relationship?” he cut her off, scoffing. “No. One night, we have a good time, we go back to normal in the morning. What do you say?”

“Do you have some kind of weird fetish or something?” Nott asked, squinting at him.

“Several,” he said, “but I can negotiate. What about you? I'm sure you've got something good.”

“Not... not really,” she said, and glanced involuntarily down at her hands, stubbly and shrunken and three-fingered misshapen. “Why me? Why not Caleb or Yasha or somebody?”

“Yasha and I fucked once and we're never doing it again,” Molly said, shaking his head. Nott blinked, diverted.

“What, is she terrible?”

“No, nothing like that, just... some friendships can sustain a lot of sex and some can't.” Molly shrugged, taking another swig from his mug. “She usually goes for women anyway.”

“So why not Fjord or Jester? Or Caleb? Is he not good enough for you?” She eyeballed him, raising a finger accusatorily.

“Well, I wouldn't kick him out of bed,” Molly said, “calm down. Look, don't – don't overanalyze it, I just thought it could be fun, maybe relax you a bit, maybe be something new for both of us. You're not interested, that's fine. But come on – how often are you going to get the chance to be the older woman?”

“I don't –” _really think that's how it works; those years don't just go away the second that you don't remember them; it doesn't ever stop being a part of you, not really, not as long as it was your hands that did those things, your feet that ran into the dark –_ “You know what, never mind,” she said, shaking her head.

“Hm?” Molly asked, leaning in a little. It made his shirt fall away from his chest a bit; a slight twitch of his shoulders gave away that it was probably on purpose. But he was all wiry muscle and scar-ridged skin – she knew that already; she'd seen him naked – and his lips had been hot and confident in moving over hers. She shifted in her seat, feeling every twinging bruise and lingering ache in her gangly, misshapen goblin body. Her fingers ached from cramps and her shoulders ached from bending over her work, her feet hurt from running, and there was a lingering pain in her gut where Jester had healed a deep-cut wound.

She didn't feel good in her skin very often. Molly was easy on the eyes and clever with his hands, and it would be good to be touched, to be held.

Nott knocked back another generous burning mouthful of whiskey and said, “Yes.”

“Yes?” Molly asked, eyes widening.

“Yes. Yes, let's – let's go. Fuck. Let's. Whose room?”

“Oh, I don't care. Does it matter?”

“Does it – yes, it matters!” Nott frowned at him. “I'll ask Caleb if he'll share with Fjord for the night, you go ask Fjord.” Molly looked faintly amused by her manners, but he went.

She found Caleb making his way to the door, flushed and sweating. “Are you all right?” she asked, catching at his hand. He blinked, turning to her.

“Yes – yes, I'm fine, thank you, just hot.” She scrutinized his face; he looked easy, comfortable, even a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “Jester is a very good dancer.”

“She is,” Nott said, smiling. She wasn't sure everyone would say so, exactly, but she was a joy to watch, all bounce and enthusiasm. “Listen, Caleb –” She lowered her voice. “Would it be all right if Fjord slept in our room tonight instead?”

“Of course, if you're all right with it. Does Mollymauk have company for the night again?”

“Well, um, I mean, sort of...” Nott was blushing, she knew it, brilliant green rising above the edges of her mask. Caleb squinted at her. “He does,” she said, “and it's me.”

Caleb blinked, and blinked again. Nott swallowed, hard, trying not to meet his eyes. If he were disgusted, or astonished, she didn't want to know.

“Well,” he said. “Good! That's good. Enjoy yourself.” He cleared his throat, licked his lips, said nothing else.

“It's just for tonight,” Nott promised, “then I'll be back with you, and everything will be back to normal.”

Caleb smiled. “Good.” He squeezed her hand. “Have fun, be safe, and if he is not good to you then I will barbecue him, ja?”

“It'll be fine,” Nott promised, swallowing her own nerves. “Enjoy the dancing.”

No one noticed her as she slipped upstairs; it was easy not to be noticed. Molly was lounging in his doorway, his coat already abandoned somewhere in the room, shirt hanging low on his chest. The necklaces glinted in the shadow of his collarbone, and Nott allowed herself to want to trace her fingers over and under the chains, caressing the gold and the skin both. Maybe she would. She swallowed the fluttering fear in her throat and said, as calmly as she could, “Hello.”

“Hello,” Molly said, waving her into the room with a dramatic wave of his arm. The gesture was a little overdone, frankly, but Nott took it, and let him close the door behind him. Carefully, controlling the faint twitch in her fingers, she pulled off her mask, and set it on the end of the tidy bed she suspected had been briefly Fjord's. The other was already mussed – not like it had been fucked in, but like it had been sat on – and the coat was draped over the footboard, folded well. Nott never folded anything of hers, though if she stole something nice then maybe she would.

“So,” she said, turning, and yelped as Molly scooped her easily up, one hand on the small of her back and the other under her ass, pulling her close. She grabbed at his shoulders more for security than out of passion, but his grip was steady, and he was grinning ear to ear.

“This is going to be fun,” he promised her, and kissed her again. She was ready for it this time, and she let him urge her mouth open, his teeth teasing at her lips in a way she didn't dare try and imitate. She hooked her legs around his hips; her feet didn't come close to meeting around him, and she felt ridiculous for a moment, but he flicked his tongue against hers, and that was more interesting. He tasted like beer and whiskey and salt-sweat. Hesitantly, she licked into his mouth; his lips were so much softer than her own.

He lowered her onto the bed in a move that would probably have worked better with a bigger person; she dropped the last inch or so, bouncing slightly. The mattress creaked as he settled next to her, his hand still pressing into her back, urging her up. She took the hint and got her knees under her, kneeling up to reach his mouth. She hadn't kissed a lot of people, but he definitely seemed good at it. Her lips tingled under his.

His hands roamed over her back, over her shoulders, into the greasy tangles of her hair, catching on the edges of her bandages. Her skin prickled to warmth in the wake of his touch. Then he tugged at the ties of her shirt, and she flinched back.

“Slower?” he asked.

“No, it's fine,” she murmured against his mouth. His teeth scraped her lip again. “Mmm...” It really was nice. And then he was untying her shirt again, and she could feel herself go tense.

“Look, if you don't want to –” Molly started, drawing back.

“No, no, it's not – it's fine, just, keep going.” Nott tilted her head back, waiting; nothing came. Molly frowned down at her, and she sighed. “I'm just... having a little trouble relaxing, that's all. It's fine.”

He bit his lip, considering. His mouth was flushed a deeper purple than usual. “I might be able to help with that.”

“I could drink some more,” Nott suggested.

“Maybe, or I could try that other thing.” At her blank look, he elaborated: “I used it on you once before, remember? Back in Zadash. Obviously those were, you know, different circumstances, but if you wanted me to try it now...”

“I – oh.” Nott blinked, remembering. As little as she liked to look back on a bad night for everyone, it _had_ felt good at the time. Peaceful and calm, all the muscles in her back unbinding in the warmth of his presence. “Don't... ask me about any personal stuff, or anything, all right? I mean, anything that isn't about sex.”

“No questions that aren't about sex, got it,” he said, nodding. “No prying. It's a promise.” He shifted his weight a little. “Just... try and let it happen, if you can.”

She nodded. “Go ahead.” He tilted his head, licked his lips. That was going to distract her every time he did it. Something glinted deep in the blank red of his eyes.

“Come on, now,” he purred, honeyed and Hell-hot. “You can trust me.” He ran his thumb over her cheek, and – forewarned – she could feel the magic sink over her, like a buzz in her ears. She took a deep, deep breath, and didn't fight.

Of course she didn't fight. What was to fight? This was Molly. He was her friend. She could trust him. He wouldn't hurt her. The certainty of it pooled warm in her chest, and she smiled, leaning her forehead against his.

“You're a really good kisser,” she said. Her voice was oddly steady in her ears. “I like it.”

“Good,” he said, and kissed her again. “So, are you going to let me get this off now?” He tugged at her shirt; she covered his hand with hers.

“It isn't because I don't trust you,” she said, letting her forehead fall comfortably against his shoulder. “It's just... I told you before I don't like how I look. I don't like that this is _me._ ” She gestured vaguely to her own body, her own limbs. “I don't know if I want you to look at it.”

“I don't care,” he said, running his hand up and down her back – a gentle, soothing touch, as his voice was gentle, but both made her skin go cold a little. “There's no one here but me, and if I like how you look, what's the problem?”

“The problem is that I'm still a _monster,”_ she said, lifting her head from his shoulder. “Physically, I mean, not, you know, as a person.” (Anymore.) “The problem is that I'm not okay with it.” Molly scoffed.

“You're not –”

“Look,” she cut him off, shushing him with a finger against his lips, “I'll start being okay with it if you start finding out more about Lucien. How's that?”

Molly's mouth snapped shut, lips thinning.

“Uh-huh, that's what I thought.” Nott slid off the bed, reaching for the ties of her shirt. “Tell you what,” she said, focusing on the floorboards, “I'll get everything off, just – let me do it, all right? Don't make a thing about it.” She glanced over her shoulder, where Molly was watching her, eyes narrow. Guilt turned her stomach, heavy as rot. Some part of her remembered it was the magic making her feel close to him, but it was a distant fact, irrelevant: what mattered was that right now he felt like her friend, and she had argued with him, and she _hated_ arguing with friends. She didn't want to test what her friendships could or couldn't bear.

“I'm sorry I snapped at you,” she said, and returned to the businesslike work of stripping down. She didn't spend a great deal of time fully naked; her skin was mottled different shades of green, sun-darkened in the few places that the fabric didn't regularly cover.

Molly at least didn't look angry, when she turned back; she couldn't tell how he looked at all. His eyes traveled over her, lingering. Her shoulders hunched. “Hold on a moment, just, maybe –” The bed was a mess already; she climbed back on the mattress, tugging the top sheet loose until she could drape it over herself a bit. She could feel her ears burning, embarrassed and hot. “I'm not saying you can't move it or anything,” she said, glancing up at Molly. “Just... so I'm not _completely_ naked. It helps.” She licked her lips. “Is this all right?” He was frowning.

“I can work with it,” was all he said, but he reached out, rubbing his thumb along her cheek. His touch lingered at the corner of her mouth.

“Sorry about the... teeth,” she couldn't help but say, tugging the sheet a little higher on her chest.

“I'm into the teeth.”

“...What?” Nott blinked up at him.

“I'm into the teeth,” he repeated with a shrug, as if it were a normal sentiment. “I like being bitten, and no one with teeth like yours has bitten me yet. In bed, anyway,” he added, conscientiously. “They're not a disadvantage.”

“You – are you sure? They're pretty sharp.” Something roiled in Nott's gut – her teeth _frightened_ people, her teeth could leave marks on bone – but Molly grinned as if it were completely ordinary.

“Oh, I'm sure,” he said, tilting his head to the side, and pulled down the collar of his shirt to bare his throat to her. His fingers tapped the side of his neck: unmarked purple skin, not the brilliant spread of the peacock's tail. “I'm completely serious, go on.” His own teeth glinted.

“Well, if you're really sure...” she said doubtfully, and leaned up, fixing her mouth over the tight pull of his tendon. His skin was hot under her mouth, faintly sweat-salty. No stubble. She let her teeth brush him, and he snorted.

“Come on, like you mean it,” he said; she could feel the motion of his jaw against her cheek. “I like it to hurt, really.” Closing her eyes, she bit down sharp, and he moaned, deep and showy. Then the taste of salt and iron bloomed across her tongue, and she threw herself backwards, retching.

“I'm sorry!” she wailed, and gagged again, her whole body wrenching. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I hurt you, I'm so sorry, I didn't _want_ to hurt you – you're my friend, I would never hurt you, I care about you, I'm so sorry, I hurt you, I'm so sorry, please, please, forgive me, I didn't want to, I'm sorry –”

“Nott, Nott, hey, Nott!” His fingers tapped twice against her cheek, not quite a blow but sharp enough to rattle her thoughts looser in her head. He caught her jaw, turning her head up to meet his eyes. “Nott, come on, stay with me. It's fine. I'm fine. You barely touched me. I've done worse to myself _today,_ you watched me do it. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“I'm not a monster!” she wailed, wiping at her mouth. He didn't let go of her jaw; the back of her hand rubbed against his fingers. “I don't like hurting people!”

“Of course you're not,” he said. “Come on. It's fine. I'm fine, you're fine, you didn't do anything I didn't ask you to do. It's fine.” He pressed his lips against her forehead, still holding on to her jaw. “Come on, stay with me.”

The touch calmed her more than the words; the touch, and the gentleness lying easy on his voice. In and out she breathed, in and out, until her heartbeat slowed. With the calm came embarrassment; she lifted her head, knowing her ears drooped.

“Sorry about that,” she said, ignoring the burning her cheeks. “I... that was a very strong reaction that I just had, and I did _not_ know it was going to happen, and I apologize.” Molly only shrugged.

“I'm going to call that one a two-person fuck-up,” he said, and brushed a kiss to her forehead again. “So, no more biting.”

“Are we going to keep trying?” Nott asked, blinking. “I was thinking I should just go.” Molly raised his eyebrows.

“Someone threw up on my crotch one time,” he said, “and we just mopped it up and kept going. You're welcome to go if you want, but, well.” He shrugged. “What's a little psychological damage between friends?”

“Well, all right,” Nott said doubtfully, glancing down at herself. His fingers were loose on her jaw. She was mottled and ugly and clearly not worth his trouble, next to all his shining silk. “Did you have a plan B?”

“Plan B is I get my mouth on you and we take it from there,” Molly said, and leaned in to catch her lips with his again. It was slower now, and gentle, coaxing: the faintest press of his teeth, the lightest trace of his tongue, kiss after kiss after lingering kiss. By the end of the night she would have spent more time kissing him than she might have spent kissing anyone her whole life.

“I know you're not a monster,” he murmured, low against her mouth. “You're a thief, and you stick your nose into a whole lot of places it doesn't belong, and you're about as shitty as the rest of us, but you're not any worse. If people see a monster when they look at you, that's their problem. It's got nothing to do with you, any more than people calling _me_ a monster has anything to do with me. Fuck them.”

“It's not that easy,” she protested, a low whisper against his mouth.

“Apparently not.” His breath was a rough, rueful huff of laughter against her mouth. He rested his forehead against hers. “I don't know what to tell you, it's the thing I've always done.” He didn't sound at all like he had when he told them how short his memories were, but she was reminded anyway.

“I don't want you to tell me anything,” she said, shifting her grip on his shoulders. “I already told you, I'm not going to change how I feel about... this.” She waved vaguely to herself. “Just... kiss me again? That part felt nice.”

His mouth twisted a little, a wry shape that she suspected meant he wanted to say something else, but all he said was, “I can do that.” And he did: more soft pressure of his lips, more slow caressing strokes of his tongue, giving her time to lose herself in the touch. Minute by minute the heat flickered to life under her breastbone again.

“Better?” he asked, pulling back.

“Very nice,” she promised him. “You're very good at that.” Praise, reassurance, encouragement: those she could offer easily, if that's what he wanted from her. She was _good_ at this part, even. And he really was a good kisser.

“I know,” he said, but he smiled, his tail flicking up in happy curls. “I'm good at this too.” And with that he lowered his mouth to her throat, dragging his tongue along the line of her tendon.

“Oh!” Nott shivered. “Oh, you are.” Molly's tail swished smugly, the tufts brushing against her leg; he pressed a kiss at the edge of her jaw, over thin and flushing skin. She clutched at his shoulders, his shirt crumpling in her hands.

“Wait, hold on.” Her voice cracked in the middle of it, but he lifted his head.

“Too much?” he asked.

“No, no, but... I'm extremely naked, and you aren't.” Molly blinked at her. “It's a little unbalanced, isn't it?”

“Fair enough,” he said, shrugging, and sat up, flicking the laces of his shirt loose. He reached up to unfasten his necklaces, and Nott made a soft low sound of objection. He paused, one hand still on the nape of his neck. “Hm?”

“Maybe...” She could feel her cheeks burning. “Maybe just... leave the jewelry on?”

The smile bloomed across his face until he was beaming in sheer delight. It made him look boyish, and suddenly young. “You want me wearing just the jewelry?” he said. “I can make that happen.”

“If it isn't too much trouble,” Nott said, and leaned back to watch as he eased his shirt over his horns. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen him naked – everyone saw Molly naked – but she hadn't been looking to appreciate, before. He was all lithe muscle and bright color, the scarred ridges of his skin catching the light. His necklaces fell in the hollow of his chest, highlighting the sharp-defined ridge of his muscles. His bracelets glinted over the wiry muscle and bone of his wrists; his horn chains glittered in the flickering candleflame. All of it made her mouth go dry, go hungry: not to take his things from him, but to take him, treasure and all. It was a much better itch than her usual kind. A wet and wanting itch.

“This may take a moment,” he said, hitching one leg up onto the bed, and started unfastening the buckles on his boot.

“Here, I can –” Buckles were nothing next to a lock, after all. Molly sat back, raising his eyebrows, and Nott had the fastenings undone in the space of a few heartbeats. Hesitantly, she rubbed her thumbs against the taut muscle of his thigh, easing the leather down and off. She liked his thighs: skinny, well-shaped. Warm. His socks, she noticed with amusement, were plain gray wool, thick and heavily-darned.

“What're you laughing at down there?” he asked.

“Your socks don't really match your outfit,” she said, dropping his boot to the floor.

“They're socks!” he protested, straightening indignantly. “They come in pretty or practical, you can't do both. And I _walk_ for a living. If I'd been planning ahead I could have put on something nicer, but –”

“I expected better of you, Mollymauk,” she said seriously, winning a strangled noise of outrage. And she had, but she was utterly fond of his ugly, practical socks, wanted to tuck the fact of them up and collect it. Maybe it was the spell acting on her, but if it was, it didn't matter. What mattered was that she knew he wore them, and she hadn't known before, and it delighted her.

“Oh, shut up and lie back down,” he said, and bent to his other boot. Nott obeyed, propping herself up on her elbows; then, suddenly mischievous, she flicked her fingers and the buttons flew open under his hand.

“Oh, you think you're clever,” he said, scowling at her; she could see his lips twitching up, trying not to smile. Boots off, and socks tossed to the floor; she was oddly sorry to see them go, but then Molly was crawling over her, bracing his weight on one big hand. He hadn't taken his pants off, but before she could complain about that he had his tongue on her throat again, trailing down to her collarbone. She grabbed at his shoulders, let go to claw instead at the bed: the long arch of his back was too pretty a view to ruin with her hands. Metal glinted at the nape of his neck: copper, silver, brass and gold, over the bright gemstone colors of the tattoos.

“How do you feel about hickeys?” Molly asked. He barely lifted his head to do it, letting his lips brush the skin under her ear like a kiss.

“Hickeys? I don't know,” Nott said. “You're really overestimating how much time I've ever spent on foreplay. The people I had sex with before – we didn't really like each other.”

Something sharp and startled flickered over Molly's face at that, but all he said was,“well, let's try it.” And then he wrapped his mouth what felt like halfway around her neck. Nott squeaked. The sharp press of teeth against her skin was threatening, frightening, but – it was Molly. She could trust him; she knew him; he was a friend and wouldn't hurt her. The surety rolled over her in waves as he sucked at her skin.

“What do you think?” Molly asked, lifting his head. Nott blinked.

“I don't know?” she said. “I'm not sure. It was fine?” He shrugged, making the flowers on his back ripple.

“All right,” he said, and lowered his head to lick at the dip of her collarbone again.

“I like that better,” she offered.

“Good to know, good to know.” He dropped a kiss in the hollow at the base of her throat and trailed his mouth down, shifting himself down her body. His tongue traced a deliberate circle around her nipple; her back arched, and he spread his hand on her shoulder, holding her down. His tail twitched smugly.

“These are cute,” he said, squeezing her other breast; Nott pressed her thighs together. Then he lowered his head, stretching his jaw until – fuck, that was her _entire_ tit in his mouth, hot all-enveloping pressure. She whimpered; he sucked at her, and her cunt clenched down hard on nothing.

“That's – wow,” she managed, cupping the back of his head. He made a pleased, muffled sound and sucked again, laving his tongue against her nipple. She didn't mind being small – what he was doing would work just the same if she were a halfling, or even a skinny gnome – and she _liked_ this, liked the velvety wetness of his mouth against so much sensitive skin all at once. He pulled off, his tail still swishing, only to stretch his mouth over her other breast instead. Cold air on spit-slick skin made her shiver happily; he reached up, rolling her nipple in between his fingers even as he mouthed at her. “ _Ohfuck,_ ” she whispered, trying not to grind against his stomach.

“There we go,” he murmured, lifting his head. “ _Now_ you're enjoying yourself.”

“What about you?” she had to ask. “Are you getting... whatever you wanted out of this?” Her hand was still in his hair; she scritched gently at his scalp, rubbing her thumb at the base of his horn.

“Mmm, yes,” he said, leaning up into her touch. He slid his hand up her thigh, hiking the sheet higher around her hips. “This is easily the most interesting way to get to know each other better.” He was sliding down her body now, nudging her knees further apart to settle himself between her legs. “Besides, squirmy is a good look on you.”

“I – _wow,_ ” Nott said, trying to hide her blush with her hands. Another wet twitch rolled through her cunt. “Do you always talk like this?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes I'm facedown in the mattress. It depends on how I'm feeling that day.” He kissed the inside of her knee, letting his tongue linger on the skin. “Oh, this'll be fun, you're small _and_ flexible.”

“I – excuse me?” Nott asked, propping herself up on her elbows. “What are you planning down there exactly?”

“What? The horns get in the way on bigger people,” Molly said, tapping one sharp keratin point. “Most people don't want to get poked in the thigh all night, it turns out, so I don't get to do this as much as I'd like to.”

“So by this you mean specifically –” Nott flicked her tongue between two spread fingers. Molly snorted quietly. “That's something you like, then?”

“Oh, it's a favorite,” he said. “What can I say? I like making people happy.” And with that he bent his head again, licking slowly at the ticklish inside of her thigh. Nott spread her legs a little wider, making careful space, and twisted her fingers in the sheets. The first slick slide of his tongue along her folds made her whine. Molly rubbed at her hip, soothing and gentle, and ran his tongue along her slit again.

“Oh fuck,” she squeaked breathlessly, “oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck...” It felt like nothing she'd ever known before, a silk-smooth hot caress, covering more of her cunt in a single stroke than her own fingers ever could. Again and again he licked at her, opening her painstakingly up; then he closed his lips over her clit, flickering his tongue. She bit back a shriek.

“Too much?” he asked, lifting his head. His mouth gleamed wet already.

“No, that – that was nice –” It felt like pleasant lightning, like heady liquor-burn. She wanted it and thought she might overload and die, both at once. Her thoughts were scattered; she was trying not to roll her hips up against his face. “Don't stop?”

“Mmm.” He didn't go for her clit directly again; instead he spread his lips wide against her skin and sucked at her whole cunt at once, and Nott closed her eyes and gave herself up to the feeling.

“That's – that's good,” she choked out. He'd seemed to like it when she praised him, earlier, and it was as much as she knew how to do for a friend. “You're so good at this, Molly, you're the best I've ever had – mm!” He curled his tongue up against the underside of her clit, and she grabbed once more at the mattress. Linen tore under her fingers. “Oh, fuck –” She meant it for the damage, but Molly took it for encouragement and pressed his tongue there again, rougher now. “Oh _fuck,”_ she gasped again, and that one really was for his performance.

He went back to the long strokes along the length of her labia, his lips a steady pressure around her, his breath wet against her skin. He moved faster now, and it melted her, so she didn't jerk back this time when he flicked his tongue up to circle her clit. She shoved up into the pressure, and his hands landed on her hips, his palms encompassing the jut of bone. His rings bit lightly into her skin.

“All right, I can stay still,” she panted. “You want me to stay still, I can hold still, whatever you want –” His thumb rubbed soothingly at the crease of her thigh, a steady counterpoint to the pressure of his mouth: the flat of his tongue was on her clit now, tip curling underneath to light her up white again. “Oh, I'm – I'm very close, you're really good at this, that feels really nice –” She _was_ close; she could feel it coiling tight and desperate in her stomach. Her toes curled against the bed. “Please, please keep going, I really –” His lips closed sharp around her clit, and he hummed, a loud sharp note that resonated through her like an instrument. “Ah!” Her cunt clenched fluttering down, and she gasped as the orgasm rolled white-hot through her. “Oh _fuck._ ”

Molly's tail twitched smugly against the blankets. He pulled off her clit, but he didn't lift his head; instead ran his tongue gently along the lips of her cunt again. There was something sweet and liquid about it, making her melt into the bed; no urgency to it anymore, just pleasure. She could lie there all night, she thought, and let him do this.

“It's – you can stop now,” she said, pushing herself to her elbows. The sheet was a crumpled band of cloth across her stomach by now. Molly only eased the tip of his tongue a little further into her, his tail beating gently against the bed. “I – Molly, did you hear me? You can stop now, it's all right.”

Finally he lifted his head, his hands still curled around her thighs. His mouth gleamed obscenely in the lamplight; locks of hair stuck sweaty to his face. “Do you want me to stop?”

“What – but – I already came.” She blinked down at him. “Couldn't you tell? I didn't think I was quiet, and you're, you know, you're so practiced at this –”

“Well, thank you for that,” he said. “Are you really satisfied with just the once? Because I was planning to do better than that.”

“I – wow. I. Whew.” She was blushing, she could feel it, hot and high in her cheeks. “Are you sure?”

“I mean, I want to be able to turn my head in the morning, but my neck's not even stiff yet,” he said. “That wasn't any time at all.” Softly he ran his hand down her thigh to her knee and up again, a far tenderer touch than his words. She'd seen him (try to) gentle the horses in the same way. “So what do you say? Two for the night?”

“I don't even know if I _can,_ ” she protested. “I mean, I'd like to, that sounds amazing, but – you might be down there a while?”

“Still not hearing a drawback to this,” he said, kissing the sharp jut of her hipbone. “I'm thinking I can manage to get you there.”

“You're very confident –” Before she could say anything else he slid his hand down the curve of her thigh to trace a teasing arc around her clit, not quite touching. Still gentle, he spread the folds of her cunt wide and got his tongue between them. The same sated-sweetness of before melted through her, but as he licked into her again and again, the tension began to coil in her gut.

“What do I taste like?” it occurred to her to ask. “Is it different from normal people?”

“I don't know,” Molly said, barely lifting his head, “I don't sleep with normal people.” He rubbed his thumb over her swollen clit, and she jerked up, whimpering as it shocked through her. “There we go.” The broad flat of his tongue swept over her skin, and then she felt the blunt shape of his finger easing into her. She groaned, biting down hard on her lip.

“I... don't think you're going to be able to fuck me,” she panted, clutching at the sheets. Feathers tickled the back of her fingers; she'd clawed something wide open, at some point. “That already feels _really_ big.”

“Mmm-hm,” Molly said, or at least that was all she heard. His hair was sticking to her thigh – sweat, slick, she wasn't sure. His finger was scarcely in her at all, maybe to the first knuckle, but it was a thick pressure that would have been painful if her first orgasm hadn't left her wet and open. His tongue worked away above his finger, pressing in between her folds only to stroke up to her clit again. His lips fastened there roughly and sucked hard just as he crooked his finger. The wash of hot want almost _hurt._

“All right, maybe this is going to work,” she panted. Molly's chuckle hummed against her skin. She closed her eyes and let it wash over her: the slow pump of his fingertip, the hungry press of his mouth, the slick sloppy sounds of what he was doing, the faint creaking of the bed as she squirmed. He didn't try to push his finger much deeper, just kept stroking, occasionally slipping out with a sharp pop to rub briefly between her folds and then push into her again. Each time was a stretch; it felt like the sharp crook of his finger could force an orgasm out of her, driving her to that edge again. _Push_ , and she shoved her hips up; _push,_ his tongue shoving rough now up under the hood of her clit; _push,_ pushing herself closer, closer still, eyes screwed shut, breathless and hot. _Push,_ she was almost there, new and wild, _push,_ and then his tongue flickered lightning-fast against her clit and she wailed, knees locking, eyes screwed shut, every nerve in her body whiting out. A spurt of wetness pulsed out of her, spattering against his mouth. She could feel it dripping down her thighs.

The next flick of Molly's tongue made her whole body shudder in painful aftershock, twitching helplessly under his hands. “Stop, stop,” she panted, “stop, ah, too much – too much, that's, that's enough. That's enough.”

Smiling, he lifted his head; his entire chin was smeared wet. “That went well,” he said, wiping his fingers on the sheets. “Do you usually squirt?”

“No,” she said, with perfect honesty. “That's never happened before.” She could feel her ears burning. Molly beamed from ear to ear, half surprise and all delight.

“ _Fuck,_ I'm good,” he said.

“You're the best,” she promised him, still shivery with aftershock. She'd have said it anyhow; it made him happy, and she liked that. (Vaguely, she remembered the spell. It seemed less important than ever.) “What – what do you want me to do for you?” She glanced sideways at her hands, one half-buried in feathers. She could work Molly like a delicate lock under her fingers, maybe, if he asked; if he told her what he liked. Maybe. Probably. She was more used to a fumble and a fuck, when someone else was too horny to care it was her and she was too lonely to care that she was herself either.

“Just lie back,” Molly said, shifting himself up the bed until his knees bracketed her ribs. The sheet was a thin band over her stomach, pooling around his thighs. He kept his weight easily off her even as he sat back on his heels, arching his back just a little. “Enjoy the view.”

“Oh, I am,” she said. Bright metal chains spilled over his chest, highlighting the curves of muscle; glass and silver flashed from his rings as he ran his hand in a slow tease from collarbone to waist. His cock was a bulge in his pants the size of her closed fist, baffling inarguable evidence he hadn't lied. He really had enjoyed that. Enjoyed her.

“Are you sure you don't want me to do anything else?” she asked, half sitting up. Molly pressed down gently on her shoulder, holding her still; nothing she couldn't wriggle free from, but the message was clear.

“No, I'm going to come on your tits,” he said, snapping his belt open. “Unless there's a problem?”

“I –” Nott glanced down at her chest, long since left bare. Still small, still scarred, still ugly green. Molly's low, showy moan cut through her thoughts; he had one hand down the front of his stupid striped trousers, hand moving under the fabric. “Knock yourself out?”

“Oh thank the gods,” he said, and pulled his cock out of his pants. It was flushed a deep and brilliant purple, foreskin pulled back to bare the wet magenta gleam of the head. He made a show of the first long stroke, thumb pressing under the head, pushing a drop of precome out. With a smile he held his hand out to her mouth: “Want a taste?”

“If you want me to,” she said, with perfect honesty.

“Not what I asked.”

“Yes it is,” she said, blinking up at him. “If you want me to, I want to.” With that she leaned forward, swiping her tongue over his thumb before he could pull it back. He had a ring on the knuckle, a thin brass band; she tongued at that too, smooth under her tongue. “Salty. I mean that in a good way!” she added hastily.

“All right,” he said, with a bemused little shrug, and wrapped his hand around his cock again, stroking a little faster this time. He ran his other hand along the line of his throat, his chest, highlighting the tattoos; with a sly look, he lifted the chain of his necklace, tilting it to catch the light. She sighed happily. He was beautiful, over her, in his shimmering jewels and his jewel-bright skin. The loveliness of it mingled with the slick heat between her legs, the warm laxness of her muscles, the softness of the sheets against her skin. She felt like floating.

“Mmm,” he murmured, arching his back a little. He pinched his nipple between two fingers, eyes fluttering closed. His other hand was moving in sharp hurried strokes; his hips rocked up once, then again, bed creaking underneath them. It felt a little silly; she didn't mind. She liked it anyway. Molly gasped; his hand dropped to palm at her breast again, uncoordinated and clumsy with want. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. She could hear him panting.

“Come on,” she murmured, only half-hearing the words as they left her mouth. “Come on, that's good...” She was watching the brilliant ruby flush of his skin, the way his foreskin slid just a little forth and back with every stroke. His fingers tightened on her breast; he cried out, echoing in the little room. Come welled up between his fingers, falling hot and silky on her skin, pooling in the hollow of her chest. She liked the texture of it, the thickness.

Molly smiled down at her, looking entirely satisfied with himself.

“There,” he said, running his finger through the mess on her skin. “There you go.”

“Here I am,” she agreed, dizzy. “It's pretty good.”

“That's the point,” he said, and rolled to the side, falling full-length on the bed beside her. Strands of damp hair stuck still to his forehead, to his cheek. He tucked his arm around her, heedless of the mess, and pulled her close into his side. “Stay a little before we get cleaned up, I like the afterglow.”

“It seems pretty nice,” she agreed, nestling into the crook of his arm. He was definitively hotter than a human, or a goblin; it was like a hearthfire under his skin. She liked it. “So, do we talk now, or...”

“What, something you want to talk about?” he asked. “I promised not to ask any personal questions.”

“Oh, that's right, you did.” It seemed very long ago. “I don't know, I just... I don't want to just slink off and fix my pants. It feels sordid.”

“Stay, then,” he said, yawning again. “Sleep. Fjord's sleeping in your bed anyway. You don't take up much space, and I like the company. I snore, but I don't kick.”

“I know,” she said. “I hear it on watch.”

“Good point.” He yawned, tugging the blankets up around them. His come was drying on her chest; he seemed to have forgotten. She'd had worse things dry on her, to be honest. She could deal with it in the morning. “The, you know, the voice trick will have worn off by morning, if it hasn't already. I'm surprised it lasted this long.”

“Mmm-hm.” She kissed his shoulder while she still wanted to, tugging the blankets a little higher around her shoulders. “You enjoyed yourself, right?” she couldn't help but ask.

“Take a look at your chest,” he said, yawning. “I had a great time. Now go to sleep, it's going to be morning way before either of us wants it.” He closed his eyes, another yawn splitting his jaw. She was tired, too, and peaceful, warmth settled into all her limbs.

“Thank you,” she said, quiet and sure against his shoulder. “This was nice. Nothing at all like what I'm used to. From anyone, really.”

“No problem.” His voice was offhanded, almost insultingly casual; but his arm tightened around her like a promise that he understood. Maybe they both talked better with their hands and with their bodies than their words.

She fell asleep easily, Molly's breathing evening out beside her.

(A while after dawn, pale light filtering in through the edges of the window, something woke her: a distant rattling outside, something that might have meant trouble and the Crownsguard if it hadn't clattered right on past the window. She stirred, and Molly made a grumbling noise under the blankets and pulled her back against his side. The sound was fading into the distance, and she curled back into him with all the same warm trust she'd felt before. The spell was long since faded.)


End file.
